Blood for the Soapbox
by Mincemeats
Summary: It's been 108 years since the Ra'zac War. Fought on northern soil, the aftermath's long bled into both Canadian and American civil rights programs. Since the war's conclusion in 1852, the Department of Health and Ra'zac Services (HRS) has collared, subdued, and integrated the cannibal masses into Human society. Genocide's been avoided, but at what cost?
1. St Johnsons

She found it out near the dusterly, past the wind and the rushes where the barn cats hunted. John Berber's son and the Marfly sisters were there, ruckshorts fuzzy with bramble buds. When Harley pushed past the raspberry thicket, they looked at her like a pack of hungry dogs.

"What're you doing?" she asked, pulling thorns from her shirt. The setting sun blistered along the rusted tin roof of old Lowe's abandoned shack. She squinted against it, dust motes spinning stars across their red faces. "Well?"

Connie spat into the dirt; she didn't have any shirt on, just a root beer brown bra that'd probably been white once. Sunburnt and peeling like a birch tree, she looked even meaner than usual. "Don't see how that's any concern of yours," she drawled, licking her teeth. A bead of tobacco juice ran down her chin.

Connie's younger sister moved to the front. There was a baseball bat slung across her back; elbows akimbo, she hung from it like a scarecrow. Harley glanced at the shredded tube sock wrapped around her left hand. The frayed knuckles were crusted russet with old blood. "Jeanie girl, that'd best be yours," she said quietly.

"And if it ain't?"

Harley dropped her backpack. It hit the ground hard, drawing up a puff of dust and sending fat, black crickets popping every which way. Ignoring Jean, she locked eyes with the Berber boy. "How about you, Terry? Got anything to say for yourself?"

He looked her up and down. "Hell," he said, grinning crookedly. "Don't suppose I do." Connie and Jean would have him swallowing teeth later, but Terry's eyes were sharper than his tongue. By their reckoning, the Lawson girl punched harder.

Harley returned the smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Good on you," she said. "Why don't you go on home, Terry? You've got better things to be doing at this hour. Why, I bet your daddy could use some help on that old Chevy."

"Yeah, engine's shot . . ." he trailed off, stuck between a rock and two glaring Marflys. "Besides," he added quickly. "It's about supper time. Mum will have my ass over her knee if I don't get on back soon." Jean muttered something dirty and Terry's ears went red. "I'll see you gals tomorrow," he said, slinking off into the treeline.

Jean watched him go, a sour look on her face. Connie's eyes were for Harley. "I wouldn't count on it." she said.

"True enough, but Terry Berber's not worth my daylight." Shifting her weight to one leg, Harley leaned on her hip and pointed past the sisters. "I'm here for whatever you've run up against the Lowe shed."

Jean turned her back on Terry. Yesterday's shiner greased her left eye like motor oil. "I'll be seeing you, sis," she mumbled. Her black, uneven stare had murder in it. "I've got something to do."

Connie spat again. "Go on," she grunted. "I've got business of my own."

"I'll see you at nine."

"Mhmm."

Jean melted into the treeline. She put pine to pine, knocking their trunks with her baseball bat. Harley watched her go; she hoped, only faintly, that the Berber boy ran as fast as his brother did. Turning back to Connie, she felt for the knife in her pocket. "Just you and me, huh? Seems a fool thing to do, sending her off like that."

The Marfly grinned. Her silver teeth looked like bullets. "Go on Harley. You talk like you chew nails, but you don't never bite with them."

"Step on aside, and I'm sure I'll have reason to."

Connie's smile faded. She glanced over her shoulder, down at the weeds growing up through the sheets of plyboard and scrap metal. "Sun's down," she said slowly. "You sure you wanna stick around?"

"What're you playing at?" Harley swallowed her gum. There was something sour crawling up the back of her throat.

Connie's eyes rolled between her and the shack; back and forth, like a metronome. Then she stepped aside, but only just.

It'd gotten dusky dark by then, and Harley could only see it on account of all the blood. Turquoise like copper gone old and flakey, it dripped in rivulets down the creature's carapace. She felt her legs go weak. Harley's mind rewound fast enough to give whiplash. She saw Jean's bat again; the dents and the scratches, the blue paint-job, still tacky. She saw Terry's shirt, the left sleeve ripped clean off, the hem stained teal like two cent Kool-Aid. How could she have missed it?

Connie laughed real loud; she sounded older, rougher, like she'd been pulling on cigarettes all afternoon. "Never seen a Ra'zac? Damn sonsabitches bleed blue." she hooked a wad of tobacco out from under her bottom lip. "Hmm, you mad, Harley?" she flicked her cud into the underbrush. "You're shaking like a leaf."

But Harley wasn't listening to Connie; she wasn't looking at her either. No, her eyes were tracing a shattered beak and collapsed eye socket, broken teeth and splintered shell. The Ra'zac's good eye-the one that didn't look like blueberry jello-stared blankly ahead. Its hands were bound in barbed wire, and caked with gummy blood both blue and red. Harley let out a tiny sigh when the fingers twitched. Unconscious, but alive? They certainly didn't look like it.

"Connie Jane Marfly, what have you done?"

Connie scowled. "You've always asked stupid questions; ever since kindergarten-hell, ever since I've known you." she stepped back into place, blocking Harley's view. "You know why, Harley. You know what they eat too. Christ, your cousin works for the HRS!"

"You shut your damn mouth about Marlene. Look at me, Connie," she grabbed her arm, digging in deep. "You're killing somebody. You're killing somebody in the woods, and sure as hell, I know you're ass is gonna be in those pews come Sunday. Your family might be Christian folk, Connie, but you won't find no confessional in this world that's gonna fix what you've done."

She laughed again, low and dangerous. "That ain't no somebody. That's a thing, Harley. A thing that's gonna eat your grammy when she bites the dust. I ain't got nothing to fear from the lord." Connie grabbed a fistful of Harley's flannel, pulling her in real close. "Besides, what's a goddamn heathen got on me? I ain't never met a Lawson that wasn't a devil worshiper."

Connie might've had her by the collar, but Harley was done talking. Nobody at school cared to fight Lawsons. They were flexible, double-jointed, walking, talking, bendy straws. Just like her older sister, Harley threw punches in a boneless sort of way. Her arm rubbered out and rocked under, catching the other girl right beneath the jaw. Connie's head snapped back, blood, spit, and tobacco juice spraying them both.

"Go on, sling names," Harley panted, throwing her weight against Connie's death grip. "I'm still better than you!" the Marfly's hand spasmed too late. Several of her nails broke off in Harley's collarbone, the rest tearing furrows down her chest. Her botched grab staggered them both, but Harley's knees locked up, and her feet tore into the ground. She hopped back a step, her fists at chin level, elbows tucked in close. "I'm a better person and a better fighter."

Connie's braid had come undone. Her hair, black like a river bottom, pooled all the way down to her knees. She brushed it aside, her torn nail beds catching in knots and snarls. "Bitch," she gasped, wiping drool from her lips. "You think you're grade fucking A just because you hooked up with the HRS? Just because you dish out your family to goddamn _cannies_?" She sat up straighter, pulling her bra straps back into place. "Don't give me that shit. You're the reason this country's gone to hell in a handbasket."

Harley kept her eyes on Connie's feet. Bare, filthy, and covered in band-aids, they shuffled to the left. "Your back talk's weaker than your right hook," she muttered, lunging forward. Connie sidestepped her, but her left swing went wide. Harley watched it sail past, coming flush with her open side. Wrapping her arm around the other girl's neck, she forced her head down and rocked her knee up. Once, twice, three times she bashed her in the face. On the fourth, her nose cracked like a chicken bone. Connie screamed, blood and snot dripping onto the grass. She was crying now, and pushing to get away.

Harley hesitated, pulling the punch she'd aimed at Connie's head. The smell of blood was starting to get to her. Her guts twisted, and suddenly, letting her go seemed like a pretty good idea. Harley relaxed her arm by a fraction; almost immediately, she knew it was a mistake. Connie twisted out of her headlock like a weasel, throwing up an elbow that caught her just below the eye. Seeing stars, she missed the other girl's twisting pelvis. Connie's heel slammed into her ribs, sending her down onto all fours.

"Better fighter my ass," she hissed, grabbing a fistful of Harley's hair. "You're damn lucky Jean ran off with the bat!"

Connie broke her knuckles against her temple, but Harley only laughed. "Goddamn crocodile tears," she wheezed. "Didn't your mamma ever teach you to fight clean?"

She flung her to the ground. "There ain't nothing clean about fighting."

Harley's swollen eyes drifted over to the Ra'zac. Was it awake? Was it watching? She couldn't tell. Her ears were ringing; she could taste blood at the back of her throat. "I've had about enough of you, Connie Marfly."

"Oh, but I ain't done yet!"

"Don't matter," she whispered. "Cause I am."

Propping herself back up, Harley waited for another kick. Connie went in for it just like she'd expected, eyes burning like tealights in the darkness. Harley sucked in a breath and rolled to the side, dodging the blow by half an inch. Flat on her back, she dug through her pockets while Connie regained her footing. Her fingers touched metal just as the Marfly girl came stumbling back over.

"You just gonna lay there?" she gasped. Her hair hung like a cascade of ichor, wet with blood and sweat. "Fine by me. Makes it a hell of a lot easier to stomp your head in."

Her foot went up, and so did Harley's hand. Blood rained down on her cheek; Connie's face went pale. Harley lurched back up, dragging the pocket knife from ankle to knee cap. "Hoo Connie," she said, drawing even with her wide eyes. "I think that one's gonna need stitches."

She fell flat on her ass, hands clutching at the wound. As blood, thick and dark, oozed between her fingers, her disbelief curdled into rage. "Who the hell brings a knife to a fistfight?" she screamed.

"Someone who wants to win."

"But that's fighting-"

"Dirty?" Harley finished. Standing up, she gave the Marfly girl a tired glare. "You've got two options, the way I see it. Stay here and bleed out, or get on down to the hospital. I don't much care which one you choose. I win either way."

Connie's skin had gone whiter than wonderbread. "You filleted my leg for a goddamn monster." she whispered. "Jesus fucking Christ . . . how can you do that to your own kind? Why even fight me, Harley? It's not worth it."

Harley pocketed the knife. Limping over to Connie, she took a hold of the other girl's arm and hauled her to her feet. "The town's that way," she said, shoving her east. "Oh, and Connie? Don't you ever tell me what is and isn't worth it. As far as I'm concerned, that Ra'zac over there deserves my help even more than you deserve my foot up your ass."

Harley might as well have been talking to a wall. Connie was already halfway down the path, her right leg dragging. Hot, angry tears were pouring down her cheeks, and hot, angry curses were dripping from her tongue. Harley stared into the woods for a long while; watching, waiting, half expecting some trick. After about five minutes passed, she dared to believe Connie was done for the night.

A sudden hiss nearly separated Harley from her skin. Heart hammering, ears buzzing, it took her nearly twenty seconds to make sense of it. "Good golly, miss Harley." her mouth fluttered between a grimace and a grin. "You forget about that Ra'zac already?"

Swallowing her adrenaline like a pill, Harley got down onto her knees. It'd gotten awful dark since she'd arrived, but she was young and her eyes were good. After a moment or two, the Ra'zac became more of cutout and less of an outline. "Hey, you awake?" she whispered. "I'm gonna come on over, okay?"

There was a long silence. Crickets set to chirping in the underbrush; they got real loud like crickets do in the summertime-so loud that Harley could barely hear the thin, raspy voice that replied. "Okay," it whispered back. "Okay . . ."

One knee at a time, Harley shuffled closer and closer. The Ra'ac's blood came back into view. Neon turquoise, it shone like a traffic sign caught in the headlights. Harley tried hard to keep the wince off her face, but it was difficult. She saw again the ruined eye and splintered beak, the cracks that covered it's carapace like spiderwebs, the broken, exposed teeth. Pausing a foot or two away, Harley noticed, last of all, that the Ra'zac was shaking all over.

"I'm sssorry," it croaked. Somewhere in the back of her mind, past all the anger and the horror, Harley thought it sounded like Miss Florine's talking crow. "I'm sssorry, I'm so sssorry."

"No honey," she said, reaching out slowly, tentatively. "Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry for folks like that."

Her fingers lightly touched the barbed wire. The Ra'zac didn't move an inch; it just sat there, shivering and staring as she began to struggled with it. Several minutes passed before either of them spoke. "I sssaw you fight . . . I sssaw you win," it said at last.

"Did you now?" the loop she was working on snapped back, ripping open her finger. Harley stuck it in her mouth, moving onto the next coil as if nothing had happened. "The Marflys don't much care for real tussles. Take away their tricks, and they'll turn tail."

"Was all that for me?"

She glanced back up, still sucking on her finger. The Ra'zac had it's head crooked over one shoulder; it's beak was open, breathing ragged. Harley hadn't quite mastered Ra'zac emotions, but she knew crying when she saw it. "Of course," she said quietly, focusing again on her work. "Weren't you listening to that speech there at the end? I thought it was mighty nice myself." At the cost of another cut, Harley unwound the last coil. "Ahh, there we go! Give those wrists a shake, kid. I'm sure they're awful sore."

But the Ra'zac couldn't be persuaded. Crying seemed about the only thing it could bring itself to do. Harley sat there with the barbed wire, feeling useless, sad, and achy.

"Hey," she whispered, taking one of its hands into her own. It was thin and long, sharp and slick like plastic. The dusterly was getting cold now. Could the Ra'zac feel her warmth? Could it feel her touch at all? "I just went and made an ass of Connie Marfly. She's gonna get me for it later, but I don't care a lick about that. I care about you; I care about fixing you up!"

The Ra'zac looked her way, and Harley nearly cried herself at the misery in it's good eye. Three little sisters put a lot of patience into someone, and a lot tenderness too. Before she could think to stop herself, Harley pulled the Ra'zac into a hug. It wasn't a tight one, but when Harley hugged, she hugged with everything she had. Her arms went right around it's back, and she pulled it up next to her, away from the cold Lowe shed. Harley expected the Ra'zac to tear away, maybe even to lash out. What she didn't expect where the fingers that knotted themselves into the back of her shirt, and the beak that burrowed down into her shoulder. Harley's Ra'zac was better than most, but even she couldn't make sense of the muffled clicks and whistles it sobbed into her jacket.

"Aww, honey," she murmured. Harley rocked them both back and forth, back and forth-slow and steady, rubbing between it's shoulders like she did with little Sarah. "It's alright. Shh, you'll be okay." Harley didn't talk much after that; she just filled up the spaces with sweet hums and senseless mumbles. She'd learnt them from her mamma a long time ago, back when she'd been alive and laughing and warm.

After a while, Harley got lost in her own mantra. Her head lolled against the Ra'zac's like a tired child's. It'd been a long day, and Connie's punches had worked their way down to the bone. Harley had half a mind to fall asleep, but Montana nights are loud and rude. Somewhere, an owl screamed and she snapped back to herself. Rubbing her eyes, Harley peered through the needle boughs overhead. The sky had gone to cobalt and coal; surly little clouds ate up the stars, and the moon lay smack in the middle like a shiny, far off dime. It'd been at least half an hour, maybe even a whole one by the sight of it.

Harley's brows knit together. They really should've been off by now. The Ra'zac needed help-medical help-and here she'd gone and kept them both in the dusterly. "C'mon," she said, gently peeling it away. "We need to get you back to town." Slack and heavy, Ra'zac lay in her arms like a big porcelain doll. Looking into it's blank eye, Harley knew straightaway it'd gone and fainted on her.

"Well, isn't that peachy?" heaving a sigh, Harley rucked the Ra'zac back up onto her lap. She lay it's head over her shoulder, flinging its arms up there too. Bracing her back against the Lowe shed, Harley locked her hands under the Ra'zac's legs and slowly slid up the sheet metal. Rust ground into her back, and she cussed, sweat standing out on her brow. The Ra'zac was at least three times heavier than she thought it'd be.

Halfway up the wall, muscles straining, legs wobbling, something needle sharp poked her in the throat. Fearing nails and tetanus shots, Harley glanced down real quick. She was confused at first, but not for long. Laughing hoarsely, she bucked her shoulders to re-position the Ra'zac's arms. It'd been an elbow spur digging into her neck. "You happy now, mamma?" she gasped, feeling lightheaded. "Finally got myself a boy."

Eventually, she went flat footed and straight backed, the Ra'zac's weight pulling down on her arms. Hugging him close, Harley laced her fingers tighter and started off down the path. For both their sakes, she hoped the Marfly sisters were busy at St. Johnsons.


	2. Charlie

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: After a six month hiatus, I come bearing fluff.**

* * *

"Charlie?" There was a rattle. A little scream of static. The phone was hot and heavy in Harley's hand. Its coral pink cord stuck like flypaper to her sore arms and legs. All mummied up in pastel curls, Harley strained her ears after the low drone of her sister's voice. "Charlie, I—"

"You what?" her words were rough. Wracked with sleep and cough syrup, they clipped in and out of the white noise like a deer through the underbrush. Harley could hear an electric fan rattling in the background, and the city-sounds of Danford pouring in through some open window.

"I need your help."

Blankets rustled and a cat began to purr near the receiver. There was a rattle and clink, a muttered curse and muffled sigh. Charlie's voice was clearer now, all focused and dry like usual. "What happened?"

Harley leaned against the counter. Staring up at the ceiling, she counted the heartbeats trapped beneath her bloody fingernails. "The Marflys happened," she said. "And Terry Berber, I guess. Don't know why that boy's mixing with Connie's lot. Didn't his brother deck their daddy last fall?"

"Last spring, actually."

"Mhmm . . . last spring."

"Honey, you sound funny."

"Yeah?" Harley rubbed her face, feeling dirt and sweat grind between her palm and cheek. "Listen, Charlie . . . I ran them off a Ra'zac today."

"A Ra'zac? Wh-"

"They weren't at school. Not even in the courtyard 'round lunchtime. I didn't like it—didn't sit right—so I stopped by the dusterly after sixth period. Sure enough, all three of 'em were there . . . all three of 'em and this Ra'zac. They had him tied up, Charlie; all tied up with barbed wire. Hell, they don't even treat animals that way, and you saw what they did to Alison's dog."

"Harley . . ."

"They'd already beat the shit out of him by the time I got there. A'course Terry bolted and Jean went off after him, so it was just me an' Connie." Harley's voice trembled just a little. She swallowed hard and Charlie waited. "She was saying some godawful stuff, sis. Classic Connie, yeah? Well, she kicked up a fight, and I uh . . . I got her with my knife, Charlie."

"Christ, Harley!" floorboards creaked. Harley could picture her real easy, like some people got to picturing promises or possibilities. She probably had that wrinkly Ghostbusters t-shirt hanging off of her shoulder, her bare feet pacing tight circles in that tiny, cluttered bedroom. "Where's she now?"

"St. Johnsons? Or not. Her momma's got that Jo-Ann sewing kit she's so proud of. Connie's just another reason to use it."

"And the Ra'zac?"

"I've got him in my room. My sheets are dark, and I figure the blood won't stain 'em so bad if they get washed right away."

"Har-"

"Hey, put yourself in my shoes. I would've set him in the bathroom, Charlie, but c'mon . . . that's no way to wake up." Harley sighed and picked at the hem of her bloodstained shirt. Little flakes of it fell onto the white tile floor, looking like a pile of dead ants. "Before he passed out on me, he was bawling, Charlie. Who knows what'll happen when he comes to? Either way, it'll be easier to calm him down in a bed than a bathtub."

There was silence, and then the sound of clothes hitting the floor. "Whatever you say, Hars. I'll be there in an hour, maybe two if the back roads got rained on." Charlie shifted the phone from one ear to the other. "How bad is it?"

"I ain't no doctor, but in my professional opinion, he looks like hell. They cracked his chest and face with Jean's baseball bad—y'know the one."

"Unfortunately."

"He's missing a big chunk of beak on the right side, and a bunch of teeth too. They were all over the ground when I got there, like someone broke a beer bottle against the shed."

"That all?"

"Not hardly. Connie must've had a screwdriver or somethin else, 'cause the kid's also missing an eye." Harley fought back a snarl, pushing the memory down where it couldn't reach her. "There's a lot of blood, Charlie. I found some gauze in the medicine cabinet, but he's probably soaked through it by now."

"We can do better when I get there."

"Damn straight."

Charlie laughed, short and sharp. "I'm gonna let you go now, Harley. Get up there and sit with him 'till I come home, but be careful; he might be a little disoriented when he wakes up. Just keep him hydrated and talk low, if you have to talk at all."

Harley stood slowly, her muscles crying out. Leaning on the kitchen counter, she watched the curled tail on Heidi's cat clock swing back and forth. "Thanks, Lee," she said, and her eyelids fluttered as she traded adrenaline for exhaustion. "I'll see you soon?"

"You'll see me soon. Love ya, Hars."

"Mhmm, love ya."

Harley dropped the phone back in its cradle and cracked her aching back. After a moment of staring at nothing in particular, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over one of the kitchen chairs. Warm air tickled the back of her neck as she took the side hallway down to her bedroom. Harley paused at the wooden door, her hand on the knob and her ear to the center panel. Nothing could be heard but the ticking kitchen clock. Biting her bottom lip, Harley opened the door slowly, gently, like she did when playing tooth fairy for the triplets. The window at the end of the hallway cast a wedge of quicksilver light into the room beyond.

Harley poked her head in, ignoring the lamp standing sentinel near the doorway. "Kid?" only breathing, wet and labored, answered back. _"Still asleep."_ she thought, and slipped inside.

Harley clicked the door shut behind her and leaned against it, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she maneuvered her way past piles of laundry and stacks of papers until she stood near her bedside. The Ra'zac lay on top of her sheets, his arms and legs tangled up in their swirly patterns. Harley might've smiled, had his soft snoring not sounded so painful. Scrubbing a hand through her hair, she kicked out a foot and hooked one of her stools by memory. Dragging it past several discarded pencils with a quiet rattle, she plopped down on it and leaned forward, resting her arms on the edge of the bed.

For the second time that night, Harley took his hand in hers. "I'll be right here," she promised. The Ra'zac coughed, spraying her pillowcase with little freckles of blue blood. Harley's chest tightened, and so did her grip. "Right here."

* * *

Harley hadn't meant to fall asleep. One moment, she was counting cracks on the Ra'zac's face, and the next, she was dreaming of old, distant things. Ten minutes, maybe twelve, passed before the smell of blood cut through her dreams like a red hot knife. Harley sucked in a lungful of it, and her eyes shot open.

"Wha?" she mumbled, and the Ra'zac answered with a tired mutter of his own. Harley went to sit up, and then stopped real quick, her heart hammering. The Ra'zac's arms were wrapped around her shoulders, his head wedged firmly in the crook between her cheek and arm. Blood and breath glued the two of them together. "Shit . . ."

The Ra'zac twitched and chattered softly. Harley deciphered _"bed"_ and _"sleep"_ before he switched to English. "N-no ma. Can't I . . . can't I sssleep with you . . . tonight?" Harley hesitated and the Ra'zac groaned. "Pleassse, ma? Mar . . . Mar's mad at . . . me . . . . again."

Harley's eyes darted left and right, desperately searching for a means of escape. When none presented themselves and the Ra'zac began to fidget, she accepted a tentative defeat. "Alright," she whispered, trying real hard to sound like her own mother, whose voice she could hardly remember. In the gloom, her eyes picked out a nametag on the Ra'zac's oil stained uniform. It was crumpled and dark, but still legible. The filthy white stitching read: Elijah. "Move over, Eli," she said softly.

The Ra'zac let out a long sigh and rolled onto his side. His hand tugged on Harley's wrist until she all but fell after him. Crickets chirped outside as Elijah nestled her into a tangle of blankets and limbs. He was so much bigger than she was, his arms and legs weighing down on her like iron bars. Harley struggled with a dull edge of panic as his beak buried itself against her neck, but after the initial fear subsided, she simply lay there, listening to his sleep-talk and feeling her clothes grow heavy with blood.

After a while, Harley's weariness returned with a vengeance. Yawning, she draped her arm over the Ra'zac's bony shoulder and rested her head against his. What would happen when he woke up? What would happen when Charlie came home? Probably nothing good, but Harley wasn't much of a worrier.

_"__It'll be fine,"_ she thought. Elijah mumbled something about laundry detergent, and Harley drifted off smiling. _"Probably."_


End file.
